Faked: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  Deal with it, buddy.

  Liana palmed my chest. “Vinny, you okay?”

  Her hair glistened like polished wood, and it tumbled down her back. Soft color slicked her mouth. The black velvet of her dress seemed to highlight her firm tits.

  Damn, she was beautiful. It stirred something inside me.

  “I’m still recovering from my botched honeymoon, but I’ll be fine.”

  She glared at me.

  “What? Am I not allowed to mope at a funeral?”

  “Not about yourself.”

  I buried the smile fighting for release as pink patches burned high on her cheeks. I couldn’t help but feel light. If our brief trip was any indication, I’d have my hands full satisfying my kinky wife.

  I counted down the minutes to Nico’s service, which ended with an anticlimactic thud. As his coffin lowered into the ground, his mistress let out a hysterical cry, and I fought not to roll my eyes.

  Alessio lingered the longest. His mouth twisted as he stormed off, kicking over empty seats. Michael barely glanced at the grave. He paid his respects and zoomed to his car with his family—thank god he hadn’t asked about my wedding ring.

  As the cemetery emptied of people, I stayed put. I was replacing a man I’d admired my whole life. Heaviness weighed my chest as I mused on a memory of Uncle Nico loading up my backpack with Anthony's old toys.

  Li rubbed warmth into my hands as the sun dipped behind clouds, throwing us into a chill. The sky had darkened to a dim blue when a man in a suit trudged up the hill. My gaze skipped over him, but not the two bikers flanking him.

  “Rage Machine,” I growled, reaching for my gun.

  “What the hell are they doing here?”

  “No idea.”

  I dragged Li upright, heart pounding. My soldiers headed off the group. Vitale halted mid-stride, gaping at the man. “Tony?”

  Liana staggered. “Is that Anthony?”

  No fucking way. He couldn’t be here.

  Anthony Costa was thousands of miles away, shackled to a wall, trapped in servitude, not strolling to his father’s grave. The man in slacks and a black sweater passed me without a flicker of recognition and stopped at the hole in the ground.

  It was him.

  Anthony had packed on what seemed like thirty pounds of muscle since his disappearance. He had tanned to a rich bronze. He might’ve just immigrated from Sicily. His demeanor had changed, too. Anthony had a magnetic personality when he wasn’t loaded on drugs, but the healthy complexion hinted otherwise. This grim-faced, Anthony imposter could’ve blended in a subway of people.

  I approached him, my skin tingling. “Hey.”

  He stared at the grave as though he wanted to fall inside. He blinked, stepped back, and raked his hair.

  “Hey, Vinn.”

  My mind reeled. “Sorry for your loss.”

  Anthony didn't respond, but gloom stoked in his gaze. Something spoke to me from his eyes. They seemed tortured, enraged, and calm, shifting from one extreme to the next. A deep fracture had split him open. He was like a poorly healed wound. His nodded at Liana.

  “You and Michael’s sister,” he commented mildly. “Never saw that coming. Congrats.”

  “Anthony, what’s going on? How did you get here?”

  Anthony fished a cigarette from his pocket, the flame eating the darkness. Then he slowly walked down the hill.

  Was he ignoring me?

  Liana’s moon-like face reflected my bewilderment.

  I followed him. “Anthony, wait. We need to talk.”

  “Let’s do this another time.”

  What the hell?

  The abrupt dismissal almost pulled my lips into a smile. “Anthony, you were missing for fifteen months. You can’t expect me to let it go.”

  “Thirteen. I’ve been home for a while.”

  My guts clenched. “I don’t understand.”

  Anthony stopped his descent. “It’s a long story.”

  I waited, but he never elaborated. “Where have you been?”

  “In a loft downtown.”

  “In a loft,” I echoed. “Downtown.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Why didn’t you go to your dad?” I wiped my face as he fell into silence, my temptation to strangle him rising. “You know how many people are looking for you? Do you have any idea what we’ve been through because of you?”

  He folded his arms. “Keep telling me how bad it has been for you.”

  “Fuck you, Anthony. Your dad was riding my ass, threatening me, aching to kill me because he thought it was my fault you were kidnapped. You’ve been here for months?”

  He stood there mutely, like a soldier at attention. “It hasn’t been a picnic for me, kid.”

  Who the fuck was he calling kid?

  “What happened?”

  His hollowed gaze cut at me. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

  “Did they make you a slave?” Liana elbowed me hard, and a twinge of remorse nagged at me. “Sorry.”

  “No, I wasn’t a fucking slave.” His lips pulled into a hard, cold-eyed smile. “I’m back. I’m alive. It was a learning experience. And it’s also none of your goddamned business.”

  Liana gasped.

  My insides squirmed as I wrestled with a feeling I’d never experienced with Anthony—sympathy.

  I glared at the bikers standing behind him. “And you’re with them because?”

  Anthony motioned at his goons hanging around him. “Give us some space.”

  “Sure thing, Tony.”

  They trudged down the hill like obedient lapdogs. Rage Machine doing the bidding of Anthony, a man who couldn’t get to his sobriety meetings on time, stunned me more than anything.

  Suddenly, a missing puzzled piece clicked in my head.

  He was working with them.

  “I’m using them to kill Legion,” he said, shooting me a dead-eyed look. “I’ve been funding the war against them. I’m killing the MCs, starting with the biggest one in Boston.”

  My mind exploded. “You’re why Boston’s a fucking war zone?”

  “It’s not just me,” he rasped in that toneless voice. “There are others.”

  Was I witnessing a man’s mental breakdown?

  “Anthony, go to rehab—”

  “I’m stone-cold sober.”

  I had plenty of reason to doubt him based on the thousands of times he’d repeated those words.

  “Your father died,” I reasoned. “Maybe you should take it easy.”

  “I’m done being your charity case, V. All you need to worry about is the new direction I’m taking the Family.”

  My insides flipped. “Since when do I follow your fucking orders?”

  “You don’t have a choice. Daddy left me everything. It’s all in his will. I’ll send you a copy. He gave me the empire, so I will do whatever the fuck I want. And I’m killing every last scumbag on a bike.”

  “You think you can walk in and take my fucking job?”

  “I’m not interested in being boss.” He flicked his cigarette at my shoes, the spark dying in the wet grass. “I have something much better.”

  Twenty-Five

  Vinn

  Anthony had no interest in being a Costa.

  He blew off a homecoming party, refused to talk to anyone that wasn’t me, and acted like we were strangers on phone calls, but he made good on his promise for the first time in his life. He didn’t want my job.

  He had an axe to grind against Legion.

  So did I.

  I didn’t mind Anthony’s directive to fuck over the MCs because frankly, I’d always loathed bikers. Killian’s attitude toward my wife had cemented that view. The creep stalking Liana needed to die, and Anthony had given me the perfect opportunity.

  My most pressing issue wasn't Anthony or the Family. It was the pressure tightening my throat when I went home. Liana spent the last few weeks immersed in research. Anthony's reappearance had inspired her to “do more,” or so sh
e kept saying. I opened her laptop days ago, and a dozen different tabs related to human trafficking filled her browser. I snorted, glancing at a cover letter she'd written for an internship at a charity.

  My wife, the humanitarian.

  Our differences amused me to no end. I admired that she spent so much energy helping people and pushing me to do the same. I'd grudgingly agreed to volunteer for Habitat Humanity with her, like an idiot. She'd convinced me to run a toy charity drive for needy children in Dorchester, and I'd conceded.

  I had to pull back.

  If this woman looked at me with her stormy blue eyes and whispered please, I’d do anything for her, and it pitted my stomach with dread. I should’ve been content with owning her, fucking her, but as long as she wore the necklace…I was miserable.

  It taunted me every day, a constant reminder of who I was. Who I wasn’t. More than once, I'd fantasized about taking a hammer to it. Grinding that salmon-colored monstrosity to dust. I couldn't stand the thing. She started shoving it in her nightstand, but I couldn't forget the other man. I couldn't let it go. I raked her social media profile to find out who the fuck was it for the twentieth time.

  My office doors burst open, admitting a flustered Liana. She was terrible with boundaries, and it irked me.

  I slammed my laptop shut. “Can you knock?”

  Red patched burned high on Liana's cheeks. She wore a smoldering look that sometimes meant she was down to fuck.

  “We need to talk.”

  My mood nosedived. “If you’re here to rope me into another charity event, I have one word for you—No.”

  That came out nastier than I’d intended. It'd been a bad day. Liana had a string of guys vying for her goddamn attention in her text messages, and one of them had invited her out for coffee. She turned him down, but that didn't stop me from scouring his personal information and sending Vitale to his apartment with explicit instructions. She was probably pissed about that.

  I didn’t care.

  “Did you send Vitale to threaten my classmate?”

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Because I had no self-control with my wife. Because the idea of her sitting down with someone else boiled my blood.

  I cocked my head, refusing to respond.

  A thin smile staggered across her face. “You know, I thought you cared about me. I was stupid enough to believe you had a good side, but you’ve gone too far this time.”

  I didn't like where this was going.

  She stormed to my desk, her hair flying as she slapped a piece of paper down. I glanced over the business card, and my insides ripped apart.

  Flatstick Pub

  Her stare impaled me. “Tell me you had nothing to do with his disappearance.”

  Fuck.

  Liana swept around the chair, hand on my arm. “Please, Vinn.”

  Her suffocated whisper tightened my chest. I couldn’t lie to her, but what would happen when I confessed? A rapid chill encased my limbs in ice. My brain froze with an image of her storming out the door. A wave of dizziness passed over me.

  No.

  She couldn’t leave.

  “Vinny.”

  “He’s dead, Li.”

  Hurt lay naked in her soft eyes. She cupped her mouth, gasping.

  My heart squeezed.

  Fuck.

  “Does human life mean that little to you?”

  An inner torment gnawed at me. “Do you want honesty or are you just looking to feel better?”

  “Honesty!”

  I flinched. “I don’t see why I should care about everyone.”

  “That’s soulless,” she hissed.

  “Maybe I don't have a fucking soul, then. Is that what you want to hear?” I shouted, agony piercing my stomach when she backed away. “Wait. Honey, I'm still the same man.”

  She palmed her face with trembling hands, crying. “That’s what scares me.”

  I sighed heavily. “You know what the Marines’ unofficial motto is? Get some. We chanted it all the time. Whenever someone brags about getting laid. Whenever we fired our weapons. Whenever we killed. Especially when we killed. There was no hesitation when I took a life, and that feeling hasn’t changed.”

  “James was not a soldier!”

  “No, he was a predator.”

  “You think you’re judge, jury, and executioner?” she screamed, and I flinched. “You can’t kill people for making a—”

  “Don’t you call it a fucking mistake.”

  “I didn’t want him to die. I might’ve hated him, but I’d never ask you to do that.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and broke down.

  A deep pain in my chest twisted and turned.

  “Liana, it wasn’t you,” I said hoarsely. “It was all me.”

  “You’ve made me feel like I’ve killed someone!”

  I palmed her shoulder.

  She cringed as though I’d struck her. “If I had said nothing, he’d still be alive.”

  “Yes, he would,” I deadpanned, shrugging. “I caught him sprinkling powder in a girl’s drink, just like he probably did yours. I won’t apologize for what I did. That asshole deserved to die. Look me in the eye, and tell me your friend isn’t better off.”

  Liana wiped her eyes, trembling. “It wasn't for me. You didn't kill him for the safety of other women. You were such in a hurry to defend my honor that you didn't consider my feelings.”

  “Li, I never would’ve put that burden on you.”

  “You don’t get it,” she moaned. “It's a betrayal. You killed someone after I confided in you.”

  My first instinct to argue smoldered as that sunk in, adding fuel to the fiery gnawing. She was right.

  I’d shot him because I’d despised the bastard.

  My innocent wife gave me the perfect excuse. I'd traded her trust for my pride. She'd never look at me the same if she looked at me at all. And I couldn't promise I wouldn't do it again.

  My cheeks burned as I grasped her hands, a violent battle wrestling in my heart. An apology hung on my lips. Then a pink-and-white piece of jewelry reminded me why I couldn’t let her go.

  I took her face and kissed her.

  She shoved my chest. Her groans faded to whimpers as I crushed her mouth in a bruising kiss. I dragged her to the floor and made her forget how much she loathed me. Then I carried her to bed and did it again, and I would've kept going if not for her gentle breaths warming my neck.

  Halfway through the night, she slipped out of my arms and tiptoed into the walk-in closet. Her frantic packing pitted my stomach with bitterness. I didn’t stop her, even though it killed me.

  Don’t go. Please.

  Liana paused, lugging a duffel bag. She seemed to look in my direction, where I pretended to sleep.

  Then she ran out the door.

  Twenty-Six

  Liana

  “Hey. Can I crash here for a few days?”

  Carmela’s pretty face registered shock. The strap dug into my muscle, and the bag hit the ground after I staggered into the house.

  Michael was out on a business trip, which was why I'd headed straight for their place. I didn’t want to field a million questions about my relationship with Vinn to my overprotective brother.

  Carmela gave me a searching look. “Does Michael know you’re here?”

  “Let's not tell him. You know how he gets.”

  Carmela bit her pink lip. “I won’t mention it until he's back.”

  I shuffled defeatedly in Michael’s mansion dominated by steel-blues and earthy browns. It was the opposite of Vinn’s stark white and black apartment. As I stepped into Michael’s bright kitchen, longing wrenched at my gut.

  They were a perfect family.

  Carmela fed Baby Luke in a high chair, mopping the applesauce that rolled down his chin. Mariette and Matteo ate their waffles. The children screamed a greeting before I lugged the bag to a guestroom.

  When I returned, Carm
ela busied herself in the kitchen, grabbing plates as I limped to the table.

  “Eggs?”

  My stomach turned. “No thanks.”

  I had no appetite.

  My guts clenched when I imagined Vinn at home, alone.

  I wished I hated him.

  I soul-searched as I sat there, digesting his terrible crime. I’d always known he was capable of murder. Michael had hinted at it plenty of times, but I hadn’t expected him to kill a man who’d wronged me. Though a small part of me agreed with Vinn.

  Queenie was better off.

  A second later, I loathed myself.

  Vinn tried to do good, in his own twisted way. Wasn’t that better than the monstrous version I’d led myself to believe?

  Vinn’s motivations were the same as mine. Family first.

  He just took that to extreme lengths.

  You’re making excuses.

  Doubt plagued my conscience. I loved Vinn, but he scared me. He’d already compromised my soul, and now he’d added murder to the list.

  Regret hit me hard after another day of being stuck in Michael’s home, awaiting my brother’s return, gently refusing Carmela’s attempts to talk. I helped her fold laundry in the living room while the kids watched a movie. My fingers smoothed the Boston Bruins onesie I’d bought for Luke. A lump lodged in my throat.

  It became a surge of nausea.

  Carmela grasped my wrist. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  I shook my head and ran.

  I dove into the bathroom, slapped the seat against the bowl, and vomited. I huddled the toilet all afternoon, purging. It was relentless, and the awful feeling festered in my stomach.

  Carmela wetted a rag and pressed it to my forehead. “Maybe we should call your OB/GYN.”

  Alarm zipped down my spine.

  I forgot about the stupid fake pregnancy.

  “No doctors.” I wiped and rinsed my mouth, never so tired in my life. “It’s probably nerves.”

  A distant door opened and slammed.

  Michael’s hearty voice echoed through the house. A pitter-patter of feet stampeded toward the foyer. My heart swam in a murky swamp of regret and longing as Michael greeted his wife with a purr.